


That's Just Semantics

by thebaddestwolf



Category: Secret Diary of a Call Girl (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, One Shot, Smut, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 05:50:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1215061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebaddestwolf/pseuds/thebaddestwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clients and a boyfriend are becoming a lot to handle, so Hannah has to sort out her priorities. This fic replaces the series finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's Just Semantics

Hannah groaned and turned over in bed, away from the eastern-facing windows that had once been the main selling feature of her new home, now the bane of her existence. Prostitutes weren’t meant to be early risers.

She pressed her face into the white pillow, sitting on white sheets on her white bed, set against a white wall with white windowpanes covered in white curtains that did fuck-all to stop the sunrise from blazing through the thin fabric like high-beams on the motorway. Is precious shut-eye the price one has to pay for the sake of monochrome?

Ben stretched languorously in his sleep, sticking one foot out from under the duvet, before settling back on the mattress, left arm draped across Hannah’s waist. She smiled at his peaceful face and couldn’t resist reaching out to run a finger down the slope of his nose, watching his nostrils twitch. He always was a sound sleeper.

It was nice being with him like this, cuddling and content. It seemed there was less and less of that these days, in their waking hours, at least. Hannah knew her job was taking a toll on him, that having an escort _and_  a fill-in madam as a girlfriend was a lot for one bloke to handle.

 

She remembered the dream she’d had before the light woke her; she and Ben standing in the front garden as he convinced her to be with him, promising he wouldn’t let her fuck it up. That she’d always have him.

She’d kissed him in the dream, as she had done all those months ago, before hugging him close. Except this dream Ben began to deflate in her arms, and when she tried to hold him tighter he suddenly wasn’t there at all.

Hannah shook her head, trying to rattle the thoughts loose from her mind. They would make it work, somehow or another. They had to. If she lost Ben…

Blinking the tears building at the backs of her eyes, Hannah gently lifted Ben’s arm off of her and slipped out of bed, padding quietly to the bathroom even though she knew he could sleep through a parade of fire brigade sirens.

She had a wee and brushed her teeth, frowning at her reflection and the dark circles under her eyes. Making a mental note to really cake on the concealer before this afternoon’s client, she rinsed and spit and crawled back into bed, nudging her knee between Ben’s legs and snuggling against his chest.

It was calming, the way her cheek rose and fell with each of his breaths, and Hannah wondered if she just might fall back to sleep when she felt his lips against her forehead.

She lifted her face to look at him, biting her lip when she saw his eyes still closed and a cheeky grin smeared across his face.

“I love you,” she said, because he hadn’t heard it when she crept into bed late last night.

Ben yawned and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her snuggly against him.

“Morning,” he said sleepily.

“That all?” she asked, poking his chest with her finger.

“Ehm… did you sleep well?”

“Wanker.”

“What?”

Hannah huffed in faux indignation and turned over on her side, facing those damn white curtains again. When Ben didn’t move she worried he misread her sarcasm and was about to roll back over when she felt his fingers skate across her belly, coming to rest where her knickers met her t-shirt.

“Love you,” he murmured against her neck, before planting two soft kisses on her skin.

“Thought you might,” she said, covering his hand with hers.

“Yeah?” Ben asked, nuzzling her shoulder. “What gave me away?”

“Hmm, let’s see. You’ve been my best mate for years. You brew me a fresh pot of coffee before you leave for work most mornings. You live in the same house as me. Your toothbrush sits in the little holder thingy right next to mine. And, well,” she paused for dramatic effect as she scooted her bum toward him, making contact with his morning erection. “This sort of gives you away, too.”

“Does it now?” he asked, grinding himself against her, hand on her stomach slipping under the t-shirt until his fingers reached her nipple. “Could just be my body’s natural reaction to waking up in bed next to a girl like you.”

Hannah gasped as his fingers pinched her sensitive peaks, and she reached behind her to stroke his shaft through his pants.

“In that case, good thing I’m the only girl you wake up next to,” she breathed, shimmying to push her knickers off as Ben did the same with his boxers. “Can’t have you getting hard for just anybody.”

Hannah sighed as Ben’s hands returned to her skin, fingers ghosting down her stomach and dipping between her folds.

“Do you get wet for just anybody?” he asked, nipping her neck as his fingers teased her.

“No,” she gasped, as he slipped one finger inside her. “Only you.”

She tried not to ponder if that answer would pass a lie detector test. It was hard to say, really, since she met most clients already pre-lubed, just in case. Then there was Harry, the rogue copper-stroke-client that she had some sort of connection with — but now wasn’t the time to contemplate such things as Ben pushed another finger inside her.

“Now,” she whimpered, pressing her bum against him again, feeling the slight dampness of pre-cum on her lower back. “Ben, now.”

He slid his fingers from her and seconds later was inching inside her, filling her completely. No one else felt  _this_  good, that she could say for certain, Hannah thought distantly as Ben began to move.

It was slow and sleepy, with his hands fondling her breasts through her shirt, his mouth sucking lightly on the patch of skin below her ear. But still, it wasn’t long before the tingling started in Hannah’s toes and worked its way upwards; he’d always made her come so quickly.

“Mmm. Yes. Good,” she panted, monosyllabic to match the monochrome.

“Fuck, Han,” Ben groaned, thrusting hips picking up speed.

“ _Unh_ , touch me,” she pleaded, reaching behind them to grip his arse.

Ben must have anticipated this request, judging from the speed with which his fingers were on her clit, roughly rubbing in broad circles. Hannah held her breath as she began to come, clenching around him when she finally let out one shaky moan after another, much quieter than she would have been was she with a client.

It wasn’t long before Ben was groaning beside her ear, thrusts quick and shallow as he spilled into her. (Another luxury not afforded to any punter.)

After a moment he pulled out so she could roll over, pressing her lips to his before nestling back along his side.

“Love you,” he said, holding her close.

“Love you too.”

Despite the brightness of the room, Hannah was able to get another hour of sleep after all.

***

When Hannah woke for the second time that morning, her bed was empty. There was a sticky note on the fridge that read, in Ben’s scratchy handwriting, “Bar. See you at 5.”

It took her a moment to remember that they had made plans to grab a bite at a restaurant down the road before heading to Stephanie’s prison release party. Hannah wasn’t sure how she’d convinced Ben to accompany her, especially considering the possibility that the troublesome Poppy would be there.

As she poured herself a steaming cup of coffee (Ben had made her a fresh pot like usual, bless him) the realization hit her that Harry would likely be in attendance too. Ben was already skeptical of the policeman, having had that awkward run-in at the courtroom where Hannah panicked and said they’d only worked together in a professional manner, omitting their unusual client-escort relationship.

Sitting on her white sofa in the white sitting room, Hannah tucked her feet under her and sipped the coffee — black — trying to work out just why she had lied. Harry had gotten under her skin, that was for sure, but she couldn’t really believe all the things he’d been whispering in her ear; that she and him were alike, that Ben would never be enough for her. No matter how convincing the words Harry muttered in the heat of passion, they couldn’t possibly be true. Could they?

Finishing the dregs of her now lukewarm drink Hannah pushed the thoughts from her mind as she washed her mug — along with the one Ben had left in the sink — and headed back upstairs. She hadn’t had a client in about a week, so she needed some extra time to shower and shave, wax and powder, blow dry and curl.

Her nerves settled as the steaming spray of the shower coursed over her body, muscles relaxing as she fell into her routine. Funny that, after all these years, getting ready for a client was still one of the few times she truly felt at ease.

***

Hannah took a deep breath as she knocked on the hotel door, her stomach fluttering pleasantly as she slipped fully into her Belle persona. She straightened the conservative black dress she was wearing, feeling the ribbing of her corset underneath. The client — one she’d never seen before — hadn’t requested anything specific in the way of lingerie, but she’d felt like wearing something special.

The door opened abruptly and she smiled automatically, the expression turning genuine as she took in his pleasant features — kind eyes, a freckled nose, and a lovely (if nervous) smile. He looked like he’d just gotten through with meetings, wearing gray trousers, a blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and a navy tie.

“Hello,” he said softly, stepping back to let her into the room. Even from that one word she could hear the Scottish brogue. Hannah glanced around the suite and spied a small suitcase in the corner — so he was actually staying here. Must be in town on business, then. “You’re Belle, I take it?”

“That’s me,” she smiled, placing her hands on his shoulders and standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Rather tall, this one. “And you’re… John?”

“Yep,” he said quickly, closing the door behind her.

“That your real name?”

“Ehm, no,” he said sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. “Bit shit, isn’t it?”

“That’s alright,” she replied, placing her handbag down on an armchair. “I’ve found that the Johns are never really Johns.”

“Can I get you a drink?” Not-John asked, gesturing toward the minibar. “Oh, right, before I forget, here.” He dug into his pocket and handed her a fat white envelope.

“Ta,” Hannah replied, taking it and tucking it away inside her bag. “And I’ll have what you’re having.”

“I’ve just opened a beer.”

“Perfect.”

Hannah bit her lip as he extracted a fresh beer from the mini-fridge and popped the cap off by hitting it against the countertop, grinning triumphantly as he handed her the bottle.

“No bottle opener,” he shrugged.

“I hate to tell you this, after that impressive display of manhood, but I have one on my keychain.”

He laughed and rolled his eyes, holding out his half-empty bottle. “To bottlecaps.”

“To bottlecaps,” Hannah replied, clinking her beer against his.

Taking a few long gulps, she placed the bottle on the mini bar counter and grabbed his tie in one hand, pulling him down for a kiss. His lips were warm and wet, tongue eagerly pressing forward into her mouth, as she guided him back toward the small sofa by the windows.

When he rang to book the appointment, not-John had requested a good old-fashioned blow job. Usually when clients requested that they had more on their mind, but still insisted on asking for that one thing they weren’t getting back at home. She figured she’d start there and work their way to other activities before his hour was up.

She heard his legs bump the couch and pulled away, taking his beer bottle from him and placing it on the coffee table. Hannah then spun around, lifting an arm to sweep her blonde curls across her neck.

“Unzip me?” she asked coyly, peeking at him over her shoulder.

Not-John obliged, his fingertips trailing down each inch of newly exposed skin and fabric, from the nape of her neck to the small of her back. Once unzipped, she turned to face him and shrugged the dress off her shoulders, fabric pooling quietly around her feet. Hannah fixed her hair as she felt his gaze rake down her body and back up, making her stomach flutter again. It only took two fingers on his chest and a gentle nudge for him to sit down on the sofa, mouth slack as looked up at her.

“You here on business?” she asked, unhooking each clasp of her favorite red corset one by one from the bottom up.

“Ehm, yeah,” he replied distractedly, eyes following her fingers. “Got here Monday. Head home tomorrow.”

“We’ll have to make your last day count then, won’t we?” she purred, releasing the last clasp and letting the corset join her dress on the floor.

Tossing a plush pillow from the bed on the floor, Hannah knelt in front of him and pushed his legs farther apart, settling between them. She guided his hands to her breasts as she began working on his belt and fly.

“Do you want to come in my mouth or on my tits?” she asked, shoving his pants and trousers down to his ankles. Not-John chuckled and she arched an eyebrow at him, stroking his already hard cock without purpose.

“You’re not the first one to laugh at that question,” she said, looking up at him through her lashes as she circled her thumb around his tip. “But trust me, I’m that good.”

Not-John gulped and opened his mouth to speak before hesitating.

“What is it?” she asked, hand slowing to a stop. “Is there something else you want? You can tell me — no judgement here.”

“I…” he started, before trailing off, palm rubbing his jaw.

“Shall I guess?” Hannah asked, grinning cheekily, leaning up to kiss his throat as she began to stroke him again. “Do you want to come on my face? No? Hm. Or maybe you don’t want to come until you’re inside me? Although we’ll have to put a condom on before that, but I have quite nice ones, at least so I’m told.”

She leaned back to look at him, reading the hesitation still spread across his features. Not-John was going to be a challenge — and she loved a good challenge.

“Could you…” he blurted, making Hannah pause as she licked a line up the inside of his thigh. “Could you touch yourself while you…” He glanced down to where he was bobbing against his stomach.

“Of course!” she beamed, hoping she didn’t frighten him with her enthusiasm that he’d finally been able to share his desire. Using his knees to steady her, she stood and peeled off her scant knickers, going slowly to give him a bit of a show. When she moved to kneel back down he stopped her with a gentle hand on her hip.

“May I?”

Hannah nodded, straddling one knee and gripping the back of the sofa as she leaned over him, gasping as she felt his mouth close around one nipple, followed by his fingers gliding between her folds.

She worried for a moment she might not be very wet, having forgone the lube today since giving head always made her aroused, but judging by the way his fingers slid along her slit she needn’t have worried.

Hannah moaned as his fingers tentatively stroked her clit, his mouth gently sucking on her hardened nipple, and she let him touch her for a few more moments before stepping away and settling back down on her knees. Though she was strictly being Belle, feeling so turned on by a client — a tall, thin client with dark hair, no less — suddenly felt unfaithful to Ben, especially after the conversation they’d had that morning.

Taking him in her mouth, Hannah sucked the tip of his cock, head bobbing to take more and more of him in with each stroke. Making sure he was watching, she trailed her fingers down her chest, over her stomach, and into her folds, humming around him for good measure.

“Oh, Christ,” Not-John gasped, hands fisting the sofa cushions.

“You can hold my hair,” Hannah said, releasing him momentarily. “I don’t mind. Just don’t yank.”

He just stared at her so she went back to her task, pressing the flat of her tongue against the underside of his cock as she sucked him while teasing her entrance with her fingers. Hannah typically didn’t come with clients, not when she could help it, anyway, but with her own fingers at her disposal she knew she could easily find release. And making herself come wasn’t unfaithful, was it?

Not-John’s hands then tangled in her hair and she grinned around him, humming her approval as she picked up the pace. With the way his hips were shallowly thrusting, combined with the groans coming from his direction, she could tell he was getting close.

Focusing the fingers of her right hand on her clit, Hannah used her left to stroke the bottom bit of his shaft her mouth couldn’t reach. She realized then that he’d never chosen mouth or tits. Well then, that left the decision up to her.

Hannah moaned around him as she felt her orgasm building, sucking forcefully on his tip while pumping his shaft quickly with her hand. She cried out as she came, clenching around nothing, as she released him from her mouth and continued to stroke him blindly, whimpering through her aftershocks as she felt his hot cum hit her chest.

“Shit,” Not-John breathed, smiling sleepily down at her, hand cupping her cheek. “You sound gorgeous when you come.”

“Thanks. You did a pretty good job yourself,” she winked, glancing down at her breasts.

Not-John laughed, taking her in for another moment before tugging his trousers back up and jogging into the bathroom, returning with a damp facecloth in hand.

Once she was dressed again, Hannah finished her beer and kissed him sweetly, making him promise to ring her again when he was next in town.

“Absolutely,” he replied. “Might just use my real name and all.”

***

Since she was already in The City, Hannah decided to visit her friend Bambi at her new place in East London. She and Byron had recently bought a flat in an up-and-coming neighborhood and she’d been begging Hannah to pop by for ages. Texting to confirm that Bambi was free, Hannah jumped in a black cab and headed her way.

“Hey babes!” Bambi said, opening the door and enveloping Hannah in a tight hug in one fluid motion. “Oh, I’ve missed you! You look fab, have you done something different with your hair?”

After a quick catch up and a tour of the flat, the two women settled on the sofa in the bright front room. Bambi had offered tea or beer and Hannah chose the latter, figuring she’d already started drinking with her earlier client — another rule broken — so she may as well keep going.

“So you’re all dolled up, Belle, did you just come from work?” Bambi asked, tucking her foot under herself.

“Yep, had a new one today,” Hannah replied, trying to hide her smile by taking a sip of beer.

“Oh, I see that smirk! Was he fit? God, I miss the fit ones,” Bambi sighed, wistfully staring off into space. “The old, fat ones, not so much.”

“Yeah, he was quite fit, actually. Quite nice, too,” Hannah said, again feeling that soft pang of guilt. She decided to ignore that feeling for now. “Do you miss it? Escorting?”

“Some days, yeah, I do. I miss getting all dolled up, miss getting taken to the opera or the theater, drinking champagne in posh hotel rooms. Miss doing threesomes with you, love,” she winked. “But it was just a job. Glad I did it, but I’ve moved on.”

“That’s great, I’m glad you’re happy,” Hannah said, reaching over to squeeze her friend’s hand. “But have you… I mean, back when you were working, did you ever…  _like_  any clients?”

“You mean, like, fancy them?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, yeah, that’s how I met Byron!”

“Oh, yeah, course. No, but I mean, aside from Byron.”

“Hmm, no, I don’t think so. Don’t get me wrong — the fit ones were a laugh! And some of the others were really lovely as well, we had a good time. But I think it would’ve felt wrong to fancy them, especially after I started seeing Byron.”

“Yeah, right,” Hannah said, taking another sip of beer. She was beginning to feel like she’d approached this all wrong from the beginning. And here was Bambi, the girl she’d mentored in the art of prostitution, who seemed to have it all figured out.

“Why are you asking about this, babe?” Bambi asked, taking Hannah’s hand again and squeezing. “You falling for a client? I know you fancied that hot Indian bloke, what’s his name…”

“Oh, Ashoke?” Hannah laughed. “I did quite fancy him, yeah. But I stopped seeing him ages ago. No, there’s no one in particular, it’s just… sometimes I wonder if I enjoy it  _too_  much, you know?”

“That’s good though, isn’t it? To like what you do — that’s why you’re so great at it. I’d watch you, those few times we worked together, and would wonder if I’d ever be as good at it as you.”

“Aw, thanks Bambi. I think my problem is that the lines are becoming blurred. I used to keep it all separate, my life and Belle’s, but it’s not as black and white as it used to be.”

“Is everything alright with you and Ben?”

“What makes you ask that?”

“Babe, you’re like an open book sometimes, you know that,” Bambi laughed. “Besides, it’s always about Ben. I was so glad when you told me you finally got properly together — the years of unresolved flirting between you two was starting to make me sick.”

“Hey!” Hannah giggled, playfully launching a throw pillow Bambi’s way. “Ben’s good. We’re good. It’s just… harder. Not like it used to be. Sometimes I feel like our record keeps skipping, but no matter how hard I try I just can’t find the scratch.”

“Well that’s relationships for ya, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, suppose so. How are things with Lord Byron anyway?”

“Oh Brilliant!” Bambi beamed. “Sorry he’s not around now, he’d love to have seen you. He’s off meeting with our lawyers.”

“Lawyers?”

“Yeah, we’re starting up a business! That’s why I gave up working, we’ve just been so busy.”

“Oh that’s great! What sort of business?”

Bambi leaned in close, a conspiratorial smile on her lips.

“A naughty bakery.”

“Oh my god, that’s perfect,” Hannah laughed, throwing her head back.

“I know, isn’t it! It combines my two passions — baking and sex.”

“I’ll be first in line to buy a phallic chocolate cake.”

“I actually have one in the kitchen — was testing out different shapes. Want a piece?”

“God, yes.”

As they relocated to the kitchen, Hannah remembered a question she’d been wanting to ask her friend since she found out she’d stopped working as an escort.

“Why do you still go by Bambi then? If you’re not working anymore, I mean.”

Bambi pondered this while she finished icing the bollocks of the penis cake.

“It feels right, being Bambi. All the good things in my life happened when I stopped being Gloria and became her — met Byron, met you and Ben, said goodbye to my shit past. So I decided to let Gloria go.”

Hannah smiled and hugged her friend, just nearly missing getting frosting on her dress. She made a mental note to spend time with her more often.

“I could never just be Belle,” Hannah sighed, dipping her finger into the bowl and sucking the frosting off.

“That’s because there are so many good things about Hannah,” Bambi smiled, kissing her cheek.

“That’s the first time you said my real name.”

“Yeah? I liked it, might just do it again.”

***

It was a lovely spring day out so Hannah decided to walk for a bit before catching a cab home after leaving Bambi’s. She was glad she’d decided to wear wedges today instead of her usual stilettos, as they were much more conducive to walking, though obviously not as sexy as her Jimmy Choos.

She was lost in thought, trying to work out how she could make things better with Ben, when she heard a car pull up alongside her.

“God, seriously? Are you stalking me?”

“Just keeping a watchful eye on you, more like,” Harry said, grinning cockily up at her. “This isn’t your usual part of town, didn’t want you to get into any trouble.”

“I don’t need you to keep me out of trouble, Harry,” she said and continued walking, annoyed at the swooping feeling she got in her stomach when she realized it was him. “Actually, it seems far more likely that you’ll get me into trouble rather than keep me away from it.”

“That’s probably true,” he chuckled, letting the car roll along next to her. “Get in.”

“I’m going home.”

“What, you’re gonna walk home from East London? In those shoes?”

“Was gonna catch a cab down the road.”

“I know why you’re walking.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“You’re not in a rush to get back to him.”

“Oh, sod off, Harry. Don’t you have some Johns to blackmail?”

“Not at this present moment, no. Get in.”

“If you want to see me, you’ll have to book an appointment.”

“Do you have an opening now?”

Hannah stopped and turned toward him, closing her eyes as she sighed heavily.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. I have cash.”

“I’m not breaking into another hotel room with you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Do you even have someplace for us to go?”

“That depends — do you make house calls?”

***

Hannah wasn’t sure what she expected Harry’s flat to be like. If she had to guess, she would have said a run-down fifth-floor walk-up in Camden, with disheveled mismatched furniture saturated with cigarette smoke. She certainly was not expecting him to live in a posh, modern high-rise, 23 floors above the Thames.

“Nice digs. You can afford this on a police salary, hm?” she asked, peeking her head into the bathroom.

“Well, I have my side jobs,” he said, dropping a few ice cubes into two glasses and pouring several inches of a clear liquor inside. “As you know.”

“That I do,” she replied, peering into his bedroom before taking in the view through the glass doors leading to the balcony. “It’s lovely up here. You decorate it yourself?”

“Of course not,” he said, making her jump as he was suddenly behind her, extending a glass to her. Hannah took it and sniffed.

“Eugh, tequila? At this hour?”

“It’s very smooth. And rather expensive. You’ll love it.”

They clinked glasses and Hannah took a large, quick gulp, steeling herself for a burn that wasn’t quite as bad as she expected. She felt her insides warm immediately.

“See?” Harry asked, taking her hand and steering her to an overstuffed chaise lounge by the window. “As you can tell, I only buy the best.”

Hannah rolled her eyes as she kicked her shoes off and sat down, lifting her legs onto the chair and lying back. She took another small sip of her drink and placed it on the coffee table.

“Hope you weren’t referring to me just then.”

“Course I was,” Harry said, finishing the rest of his drink and sitting on the side of the chaise as he smoothed his free hand up the inside of her thighs.

Normally Hannah would part her legs, giving the client more room, but with Harry, she knew the enjoyment for him lay in the chase. She had to make him work for it. (She tried not to think about the fact that the enjoyment for her lay therein, as well.)

“Though I’d like to think one day we can see each other without money changing hands,” he continued, fingers caressing her thigh just under her dress.

“That’s not gonna happen.”

“And why not?” Harry’s hand inched higher, fingers and wrist disappearing under the dark fabric.

“You know why not,” she replied tersely, trying not to let the effects of his touch show on her face.

“Ah yes, good old Benjamin,” he replied, placing his glass down and shifting closer to her on the edge of the chaise as his hand worked its way higher. “Wonder if Benjamin knows just how easily you were cajoled into coming back to my flat. Wonder if Benjamin knows how wet you are for me.”

Hannah gasped as he made contact with her folds, no barrier between them having stowed her knickers in her purse after Not-John. His fingers slid through her wet heat, teasing and prodding but never touching exactly where she’d like him to. Hannah closed her eyes and leaned back against the pillow, wishing he hadn’t already figured out how to push her buttons so well.

“Can we not talk about my private life please,” she said, wincing at the hoarseness of her voice.

“Oh right, of course,” Harry said, slipping a finger inside her and withdrawing it maddeningly slow. “That’s Hannah with the boyfriend. But this woman before me is strictly Belle. How silly of me.”

Hannah whimpered as he added another finger, keeping the same leisurely pace.

“Pull your dress up,” he said roughly

She obeyed, working the tight fabric over her hips before dropping one foot to the floor, allowing Harry to lie on his front and press his lips to her clit, sucking so hard she cried out.

Hannah tried to focus on his touch, his fingers fucking her beginning to pick up speed as his tongue increased its assault, but his words stuck in her mind. Had she not just this morning told Ben she only got wet for him? If she was going to mend things between them she had to work on being honest not only with Ben, but with herself.

To stop any more damage from being done today, Hannah decided not to let herself come for Harry. Being in this business for a few years now, she had faked orgasms more times than she could count — and rather brilliantly at that, if she may say so herself — but she’d never had to do it in order to stop an approaching release. And, judging by the warm tightness building low in her stomach, she had better start now.

So she went through the motions of burying her hand in Harry’s hair, clenching her muscles around his fingers, bucking against his mouth, and moaning in escalating volumes. The sound of her cries and the added friction from arching into his touch almost pulled the trigger, but she somehow made it through without completely falling off the ledge.

Harry withdrew his mouth and fingers and Hannah sighed with relief, keeping her eyes closed as if she were coming down from an earth-shattering orgasm. She hoped their hour would be up soon so she could get home to Ben with enough time for a quickie before heading to Stephanie’s; she couldn’t survive spending the rest of the evening this turned on with no release.

Sighing happily, thinking about how she really should have gone into acting, Hannah opened her eyes and began to sit up, only to freeze when she saw the annoyed look on Harry’s face.

“What the fuck was that?”

“What do you mean, I just-”

“I’ve seen you come, and that, love, was a brilliant performance, but you didn’t fool me for a second.”

Hannah stood up and smoothed her dress down, looking around for her shoes.

“I never come for clients,” she lied, sitting down to reach for one wedge that had gone under the chaise. “I’m sorry if that’s hard for your ego to take, but it’s true.”

Harry was on her in an instant, holding her wrist as he pressed her back against the cushions, face inches from her own.

“And what about the last time, when we almost got caught in that hotel room? Once that bloke left and I finished fucking you against the bathroom wall, you came so hard your knees practically gave out. You left smears of red lipstick on the tiles from trying to muffle your cries.”

Hannah gulped at the memory his words dredged up, at the feel of him hard against her stomach. She rubbed her thighs together, mustering all her willpower to not bite his bottom lip.

“Tell me you didn’t come then,” he said, releasing her wrist to push her dress above her hips again.

“I didn’t,” she breathed, closing her eyes as his mouth latched on to her pulse point and sucked.

One of Harry’s hands slipped under her dress, bunching the fabric further until his fingers reached her right breast, tweaking her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Tell the truth,” he said, shifting again and Hannah heard his fly unzip. Seconds later his cock was pressing against her entrance, hard and hot.

Hannah pouted and ground her hips against him, succeeding in his tip slipping into her for a few seconds before he pulled out, moving so his cock was sliding through her folds, his head just nudging her her clit with each stroke.

She tried to think of Ben, to remember the reasons she should keep her distance with Harry, but she knew he wasn’t going to let her go until she came, and each time his cock bumped her clit giving in became a more and more attractive option.

“I’m not fucking you until you say it,” Harry growled, pinching her nipple at the same time his cock slipped over her clit, making Hannah throw her neck back and moan.

“I came,” she panted, finally succumbing, circling her legs around his waist in an attempt to drive him closer.

“When?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Harry,” she groaned, digging her nails into the flesh at his hips through his shirt.

Rather than reply, he positioned his cock at her entrance again, slipping in an inch or so before pulling out, looking at her with a strained-yet-expectant look.

“In the hotel,” she breathed, squeezing her legs around him. “You made me come in the bathroom in the hotel.”

“Good,” he said, finally pushing into her with one quick thrust and a loud groan.

Hannah cried out at the feel of him inside her, clinging to him with her eyes closed as he pounded into her, pelvis hitting her already sensitive clit with each thrust. She knew she was going to come hard and soon.

Moving his hand from her breast, Harry reached beneath her to grab her arse, changing the angle so he was hitting her just  _there_  and,  _fuck_ , she was coming, clenching around him, choking out moans that would put her best fake orgasm performance to shame.

A moment later Harry pulled out, taking himself in hand and pumping a few times before coming thickly on her stomach. It took Hannah a few more minutes of catching her breath and waiting for the feeling to come back to her legs to work it out.

“You didn’t use a condom?” she asked incredulously.

Harry looked down at her like she was completely daft.

“When would I have put a condom on?”

“For fuck’s sake, Harry,” she groaned, using a napkin on the coffee table to clean herself up.

“What’s the problem?” he laughed, tucking himself back into his trousers and leaning back against the chaise. “I’m sure you’re on birth control — not like Ben is using condoms, is he?”

“That’s not the point!” she yelled, righting her dress and finally locating that damn wedge under the chair. She was so angry — at him, at herself — that her hands were shaking.

“Oh, you don’t fool me for a second,” he drawled, folding his hands behind his head as he watched her collect her purse. “One night Ben will be working late and you’ll think about this while you touch yourself. I’ve been telling you we’re the same, Belle. I know you get off on it.”

“You know nothing about my life,” she said evenly, finishing the shot of tequila before turning and walking to the door. “Goodbye, Harry.”

***

It was dark by the time Hannah finally got home, the guilt in her stomach having solidified during the trafficky cab ride, feeling like a weight in her gut. She found Ben in the kitchen, drinking a beer while sitting on a stool at the island counter.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked, eyes fixed on the floor somewhere to the right of her feet.

“I- I got caught up,” she stammered. “Visited Bambi and then had a last-minute client.”

“Last-minute client?” he said, finally meeting her eyes. The frustration she found there made her shrink back. “You don’t take last-minute clients. What’s going on, Hannah? Every time I think we’re getting back on track you go and disappear on me for hours.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, crossing the kitchen and tentatively placing her hands on his shoulders. “I should’ve called, I just lost track of time. It won’t happen again, alright?”

“God, have you been drinking?” he asked, standing up and stepping away from her. “I don’t even know if I can trust you anymore. And I hate that. I hate that there’s this distance between us, and I know that some of that lies with me. But I can’t shake this feeling there’s something you aren’t telling me.”

Hannah ran her hand across her forehead and tried to stop the tears from cresting her lashes. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes and took a shuddering breath before replying.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” she said, taking a shaky breath. “I’m just having a hard time keeping Belle and Hannah separate, that’s all. But I’ll sort it out, Ben. I love you.”

“No, you don’t get it,” he sneered, shaking his head. “There is no Hannah and there is no Belle — there’s just  _you_.”

“Ben, please,” Hannah started, following him as he walked toward the front door. “Let’s just go to Stephanie’s thing for a bit and then we’ll come home and talk this all out, okay?”

“No, I need time to think,” he said, opening the door. “Midnight, at our spot on the Embankment. Meet me there if you want to try to make this work.”

And with that he was gone, closing the door softly behind him. Hannah wanted to run after him, but suddenly felt like she couldn’t breathe. Leaning back against the hallway wall, she slowly slid down to the floor, finally taking in a raspy breath once she’d collapsed completely.

She curled her arms around her knees, hugging her legs to her chest, put her head down, and cried. The sounds of her ragged sobs filled the vast, empty house.

***

By the time Hannah had showered and dressed for Stephanie’s party, she’d figured out what she had to do. It wouldn’t be easy, but it would be a step in the right direction. It was a change she needed to make in order to move forward with her life.

She’d decided it was a go bold or go home kind of night, choosing a long yellow gown with sparkly embellishments on one side. She took a heavy hand to her eyeliner and worked every strand of hair into big, loose curls.

The party was in full swing by the time she got there, the swanky room filled with people she’d interacted with over the years; her accountant-stroke-client, Stephanie’s lawyer, Charlotte and the other girls from the agency, Stephanie’s troubled daughter Poppy, and, of course, the newly freed madam herself.

“I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t make it,” Stephanie said, handing Hannah a glass of champagne and air-kissing both cheeks. “Nearly everyone has been asking for you.”

“Really?” Hannah asked skeptically, glancing around to see several pairs of eyes directed her way.

“Yes, you’ve made quite a name for yourself while I was, ehm, away. Looks like you were cut out for being a madam after all. Now, don’t go off and start a competing agency on me. I do want to spend more time with Poppy, though, if you had any interest in continuing the work you’ve been doing for me.”

“And risk jail time?” Hannah snorted. “Like I’ve told you before, Stephanie, it’s not for me.”

“Suit yourself. Well, I’m going to make the rounds. By the way, a certain policeman has been asking for you.”

Hannah groaned, mentally kicking herself for forgetting Harry would be here. That’s when she saw him, eyes locked on her across the crowded dance floor as he began to make his way through the throng toward her.

“Still mad at me?” he asked, taking her hand and leading her into the crowd. He guided her hands around his neck and placed his on her waist, slowly swaying to the music.

“I’m not even going to answer that.”

“Look, I’m sorry about earlier. Got caught up in the heat of the moment,” he said, scruff brushing against her cheek as his lips moved against her ear. “But I meant what I said. You and me, we’re not like the rest of them — we need more. I want you to be with me, Hannah.”

“You don’t get it,” she said, dropping her hands from his shoulders and taking a step back. “We might be the same, but we could never be together like that. We’d become vile. You and me, we need people who make us better. People who hold us accountable. People who love us.”

Her voice broke somewhere in the middle of the word that had always eluded her, that is, until she found her way back to Ben. Her stomach flipped as she wondered if he still loved her, or if she’d gone and cocked it up beyond repair.

“I can’t be here,” she said, slowly backing away from Harry. “God, what am I even doing here? I’ve got to go.”

“Belle!” he called after her, but Hannah hardly heard him as she ran through the crowd and back toward the door. There were still hours to go until midnight, but she couldn’t bear to be with these people much longer, the co-conspirators in her web of deceit. She’d just go and sit on their bench on the Embankment so she’d be there waiting for Ben when he arrived.

Bunching her dress in one hand, Hannah carefully made her way down the steps and through the front garden, looking for a cab on the busy street. That’s when she heard someone call her name.

It was Ben, walking down the pavement toward her, a small white box tied with string in his hands.

This time Hannah couldn’t stop the tears from spilling from her eyes, walking quickly toward him and taking his face in her hands, kissing him soundly. She hesitated, pressing her forehead against his, until she felt his arms wrap around her waist, pulling her closer to him. Then she kissed him again, clinging to him like he might get swept away.

“Couldn’t wait ‘til midnight,” he said when she finally let him go.

“Me neither,” she laughed, sniffling.

“There’s a pub ‘round the corner,” he said, motioning with a nod. “Want to go have a chat?”

Hannah agreed, taking his hand and walking in that direction.

“What’s in the box?” she asked, peering down at his other hand.

“Oi, nosy,” he laughed, hiding it behind his back. “I’ll show you later.”

***

After buying a couple of pints, Hannah and Ben went into the pub’s back garden, sitting on the steps that led down to a quiet stretch of the Thames. A couple of swans honked in the distance and the two laughed, Hannah reaching out to hold Ben’s hand again now that things were more relaxed between them.

“God, I don’t know where to begin,” she said nervously, taking a sip of her beer.

“Well, I do,” Ben replied, placing his glass down and reaching for the small white box behind him and handing it to her.

“Go on, open it.”

“It’s not an engagement ring, is it?” she asked, tongue peeking through her teeth as she grinned at him.

“Shut up,” he laughed.

Hannah tugged on the string and opened the box, smiling when she found a single custard tart sitting inside.

“Do you remember the last time we had one of these?” Ben asked.

“Of course, it was ages ago” Hannah beamed at him, feeling the tears prickle the backs of her eyes again. “Best custard tart in London, that.”

“See the crust? That’s not a machine, that’s hand-made,” Ben said, lifting the tart from the box. “Do you remember what you did next?”

Hannah thought for a moment then scrunched up her nose, shaking her head.

“You reached your grubby little fingers across the table, took the tart off my plate, and shoved half of it into your mouth.”

“No, did I?” she laughed.

“Yeah, you did, and I acted all indignant. But here’s the thing, Han,” he said, tone serious as he placed the tart back in the box and took her hand. “Truth is, I  _wanted_  to share it with you. Wanted to share everything with you. Still do”

Hannah nodded vehemently, a tear sliding down her cheek as she pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling.

"And I know I’ve been a prick, that I haven’t been the most understanding boyfriend, so I’m going to work on being more honest with you," he continued, adam’s apple bobbing. "But for that to work, for  _us_ to work, it’s gotta be both ways.”

“I know, you’re right. And I wanted to share everything with you, even back then. I just didn’t know it yet,” she sniffled, wiping her face with her hands. “And I know I’ve been shit lately, but I can do better. I have a plan to do better.”

“Oh yeah?” Ben asked, reaching out to brush a new tear from her cheek. “What’s this plan?”

“Well, I realized I’ve had it all wrong from the get-go,” she started. “I thought I could split my life in two, create tidy, separate universes that would happily coexist, but that’s just not possible. You were right all along — there’s just me. So I’m going to let it go.”

“What, you’re going to give up escorting?”

“No,” Hannah smiled. “I’m going to give up Belle.”

“I don’t get it…” Ben shook his head.

“When I started escorting, Belle was just a pseudonym, a way to hide my identity with clients. But over time she became a crutch — if Belle fucked up, then it wasn’t on me. I think that’s why everything has gotten so muddled lately. I know it’s just a name, but it became so much more than that. So from now on, no more Belle. I’m still going to keep working as an independent escort, for now at least, but I’m going to just be me.”

“Well, that sounds like a good start,” Ben said, placing his hand on her knee. “What do you mean ‘for now’?”

“I’d like work on figuring out what I want to do with the rest of my life,” Hannah said, laughing uncertainly as she took another sip of beer. “Didn’t get to tell you this, but Bambi’s opening up a naughty bakery, where they make cakes for hen nights and stag dos. She seems really happy. I think I’d like to find something like that. Not baking, exactly…”

“Yeah, I’ve had your cooking — you’d inadvertently poison all your customers.”

“Hey!” she playfully swatted at his chest. “No, but you know what I mean. I think I can find something that I might be just as passionate about. Like, I dunno, I have a couple books under my belt. I could be a sex columnist or something. Can’t be a prostitute forever.”

“Oh, I dunno, I heard a lot of guys have granny kinks,” Ben grinned while Hannah rolled her eyes. “Alright, so what else is part of this plan?”

Hannah put her beer down and took a deep breath.

“Coming clean.”

“Fuck, now you’re making me nervous.”

Hannah pivoted in her seat on the steps so she could face Ben more directly.

“Remember how I said I’d write it off as Belle if I fucked up while working? Well, there was this one client where things sort of… crossed a line. You met him, actually, in the courthouse at Stephanie’s hearing.”

“That scruffy bloke with the skinny tie?” Ben asked, voice sharp. “I knew there was something I didn’t like about him. What exactly happened, Han?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. He just… treated me different, made each time I saw him exciting. I never knew exactly when he was going to turn up, and when he did it was almost an adventure. I found myself really drawn to that and it was like he wasn’t a client at all… for a little while at least.”

“What does that mean?” he asked, jaw tightening.

“I fancied him,” she said quietly, looking down at the water. “I liked being with him, until he showed his true colors. Made me realize how shit I had been. How much I really love you.”

“Christ, Hannah,” Ben sighed, scratching his throat. “Do you see how fucking confusing this is? Does it not count as cheating just because he paid you for it?”

“I know, and I’m so sorry, Ben,” she replied, rubbing his arm, voice cracking. “It was wrong. It was wrong and it won’t happen again, okay? And that’s where the next stage of my plan comes in — I won’t see any more clients that I fancy. Even just a little bit.”

Ben sighed and rested his head on his hands, elbows propped on his knees.

“You’re never gonna see that copper again?”

“No,” Hannah shook her head, willing him to believe her. “No, never. Not ever, I promise.”

“We need to talk about this more,” Ben said, meeting her eyes again. “But not now. It’s doing my head in.”

“Alright,” she said softly, reaching for his hand and letting out a quiet breath when he took it.

“So what else is part of your master plan, then?”

Hannah straightened her shoulders and smiled.

“We sell the house.”

“You serious?”

“We need some place that’s just  _ours_ , somewhere we can start fresh together. You always hated the house, anyway. And I’m starting to feel the same way — it’s all white and sterile, when we need somewhere cozy where we can relax.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ben said, smiling again. “We can do that.”

“Good,” Hannah smiled, leaning in for a lingering kiss. “Can we have the custard tart now? I’m starving.”

“Go on,” Ben laughed, handing her the box. “Just remember to save half for me.”

The two remained sitting on the banks of the Thames, watching the swans paddle slowly by in the darkness, until the pub closed and the proprietor had to ask them to leave.

***

Hannah was true to her word, updating her website to remove her alter ego until all that was left was just her. After blocking Harry’s number, she rang up a few other girls in the agency and asked them to take the clients she worried she was getting a little too close to. It was hard, especially for the ones she had known for years, but she knew it was the right thing to do.

And after just a few weeks on the market she sold her big, white house and bought a flat that she and Ben chose together, a larger space on the top floor of her old building on the South Bank.

They decorated it similarly to her old place, the one where she fell into Ben’s arms on the couch one night in a moment of vulnerability; the one where they’d made so many great memories as mates. The space was full of inviting plush furniture and warm, rich colors, without a white wall in sight.

On their first morning waking up there, Hannah twisted around in Ben’s sleep-heavy arms, eyes level with his mouth.

“I love you, Ben,” she whispered to his sleeping smile. “You’re my best friend and I want you to have the best life.”

She snuggled closer against him and rested her cheek on his chest, feeling lulled back to sleep by the steady rise and fall of his breathing. Just before she drifted off she felt his lips move against her temple.

“I love you, too.”

***

Hannah took a deep breath and knocked on the hotel room door, taking a moment to smooth her dress while she waited for the doorknob to turn. She was seeing an old client, the plastic surgeon who she had once considered getting a tit-job from, and she was more nervous than usual.

He opened the door with a smile and stepped back to let her in.

“Good to see you again, Belle.”

“Actually,” she said, crossing the threshold. “I’m Hannah.”


End file.
